The Good Guy Sticks Around
by avi-chuka x
Summary: I'm keeping it up for sentimental reasons, but consider this perpetually incomplete. Movieverse. Post X2.
1. Prologue

**PROLOGUE...**

Katherine 'Kitty' Pride tip toed down the hallway, her muted footfalls thudding gently on the carpet that lined the wooden floors. She carefully evaded pools of moonlight that poured through the thick glass of the window at the end of the hall, so she could avoid any possible patrollers in the shadows. She navigated through the darkness expertly, obviously having mapped out the course before hand. Kitty wore loose gray sweat pants, and a large t-shirt, belonging to her roommate Peter Rasputin, which she'd had to tie at the back to make it more form fitting. She'd tied her hair up in a sloppy bun, to keep it out of the way. Although she moved with caution, her determined pace implied that she was definitely on a mission. Finally the 17-year-old brunette reached her destination, coming to halt at the end of a corridor. Before her was a large painting of the building she was currently standing in, a stately mansion, surrounded by gardens, and bathed in sunlight: Xavier's School For Gifted Youngsters.

To the public at large, Charles Xavier's establishment was just what the name implied, a distinguished, if not obscure boarding school for academically advanced students. However, unbeknown to most, the designation of 'gifted' had another implication as well. Almost twenty years ago, Charles Xavier opened the school as a place for the budding outcasts of society to learn and grow, as well as seek refuge from the world that labeled them freaks. A new race of individuals known technically as Homo Superior, A.K.A. mutants. Evolution had surged forward, and bestowed upon the chosen few abilities extreme enough to rewrite scientific history. The individuals considered these abilities both a gift and a curse. Xavier himself was an extremely powerful telepath, and arguably one of the strongest mutants in the world.

He had opened the school with an initial three students, Scott Summers, whose mutation caused him to absorb sunlight and refocus it as optic energy, an endless, and explosive stream of red light that emitted from his eyes. The stream was constant and could only be held in check by a pair of ruby quartz glasses created for him by an associate of Charles Xavier named Moira McTaggart. Because of the glasses, he chose the mutant code name Cyclops. The second student was a beautiful African woman named Ororo Munroe. She was rescued from her village in Kenya by Xavier. After discovering her abilities, the power to control the weather, conjuring ice storms, and droughts with ease, she was labeled a witch, and expelled by her people. She chose the name, Storm. And finally there was Jean Grey, who'd sought Xavier out herself. Already an accomplished telekinetic, she'd requested the older man's help at mastering her developing telepathy. Under his tutelage, her mental powers grew perhaps beyond his own. It wasn't long before the three students became inseparable friends, and soon after Jean and Scott were to fall in love.

But more to the point, these three initial students made up yet another initiative of Charles Xavier's establishment. For below the floors of the classrooms, and stables, and garages, utilized by the young mutants, there was a network of stark tunnels, and rooms, the home base for the driving force in Mutant/Human relations, the team Xavier had affectionately dubbed the X-men.

You see, not only are mutants taught traditional lessons and values, but also how to master their unique abilities. It was Xavier's dream for mutant-kind to use these abilities for good, showing humans that mutants were not monsters to be feared, but the next step in their own evolution. The professor's desire for peaceful coexistence with humans inspired his three students, and they were thoroughly trained and outfitted in leather and kevlar battle suits, to protect human kind, from more unseemly mutants that threatened it. This may help explain why young Kitty Pride was currently standing before the painting at what seemed for all the world like a dead end.

The teenager inhaled in an attempt to calm her nerves, and slowly lifted a hand to rest her fingertips against the picture. Concentration flickered across her face, as she triggered the ability given to her by her own mutation. Her molecules expanded, and fluctuated, causing an odd, but familiar fluttering in her stomach that spread throughout the rest of her body, all the way to her fingertips. Receiving the change in molecular structure, her fingers slipped right through the solid particles of the picture into the wall behind it.

"Wait for me!"

Kitty jumped, and snatched her hand back. The sudden whisper from behind had startled her molecules right back into place. She was too frightened to move, and didn't until a hand on her shoulder spun her around to face an out of breath Jubilation Lee.

Like Kitty, Jubilee was about 5'6, slight of build, 17 years old, and a mutant. Her Asian eyes burned with annoyance, as she doubled over to catch her breath, still looking up at her friend. Jubilee's clothing contrasted violently with Kitty's plain sweats and shirt, and blared through the darkness like a pylon. She wore a bright yellow baby t, and a pair of orange track shorts, neon leggings matched her painted nails, and ended with very plain, out of place looking, white sneakers she bent down to tie. (For the sake of 'sneaking' she had discarded her many bracelets and rings to prevent possible clanking and alerting older house mates to her night time wanderings) Her short black hair was parted and tied into two bobbing pony tails, held by frizzling bands. Her style of dress easily echoed her personality as well as her mutation: explosive. Jubilee had the ability to create 'fire crackers' of light energy, of varying levels of intensity. She'd yet to master the explosions of light completely, but the sheer pride of her ability, and of course stubbornness, didn't allow her to admit this to herself.

"I thought you weren't coming." Kitty whispered, willing her heart to stop beating so fast. "Are you insane?" Jubilee hissed back. "I'm not gonna let you do this alone and get all the glory. No one has _ever_ snuck down to the tunnels. It just took Siren an extra long time to get to sleep. You know how she gets."

Kitty nodded, thinking of the younger mutant girl, whose ability was to emit a high powered sonar screech, effectively disabling anyone in the vicinity. Kitty wasn't sure if her mutation caused the younger girl's incessant chattering, but she was glad Jubilee was Siren's roommate, and not her.

"So you couldn't get Pete-y Pure-heart to come, huh?" Jubilee asked flashing a grin. Kitty was immediately defensive. "Don't call him that! And obviously not. He tried to talk me out of it." They alluded to one of Kitty's four roommates, Peter Rasputin, who was their age, and had the ability to sheath his skin with organic metal, quadrupling his already impressive strength, and stamina, as well as making him impervious to physical attacks, including high velocity bullets. Jubilee chuckled silently. Kitty saw her sides shake with laughter, and felt herself blush. "Told you he wouldn't come. So much for bravery impressing the Colossus." To divert Jubilee from further comment Kitty quickly spoke up. "Come on, Jubes are we gonna do this or what? The _X-Juniors_ will be by here before long, and you know Ice_boy_ would just love to snag one of us." Jubilee frowned at the mention of the two youngest X-men, referred to by the older students as the 'X-Juniors', Rogue and Bobby Drake, who's ability to create and manipulate ice earned him the title Iceman. Rogue's mutation was one of the more dire abilities, the power to absorb the life energy, of any other human she comes in physical contact with. In the case of mutants she takes on their powers, while also, rendering them momentarily comatose. Because of her effect on others, she will be forever unable to touch any other human being, including her boyfriend, Bobby. Despite them both being only 19 the two had been made official X-men six months ago, when the entire community of Xavier's school for gifted youngsters was racked by the malicious plans of the late William Stryker, an ex-military anti mutant fanatic, who'd attempted to eradicate mutant kind. Stryker had been taken out by the X-men, with the recent additions to their ranks, an intense, animalistic man named Logan, codename Wolverine, and an odd German mutant named Kurt Wagner, known as Nightcrawler. Wolverine had been scarce, and something of a legendary figure at the school. Rogue was openly admired for having such a close relationship with the enigma, but then the two had arrived at the school together in the first place. Nightcrawler, who bore physical signs of mutation, including indigo blue skin, bright yellow eyes, fangs, a tail, and three digits on each hand and foot, was enigmatic as well, rarely daring to venture outside of his room. Few had managed to sneak peaks at him, but when they did, it was discovered that he was extremely kindly, and gentle, a stark contrast to his appearance.

"You're right." Jubilee breathed. She inhaled as Kitty had moments before, and extended a hand to her friend. Kitty took it, and together the girls faced the picture. Kitty rose her free hand and placed in on the picture again. Her friend's presence beside her would not allow for hesitation, so Kitty concentrated, altering her molecules again, feeling the energy pass from her into Jubilee, and together they walked through the wall, and into an elevator compartment. The girls broke apart, both seeming relieved that they'd been successful. The walls and ceiling of the elevator were white and smooth. Bright white light emanated from the lit floor beneath.

"Which floor?"

The electronic voice of Moira McTaggart asked them politely. The girls exchanged glances. "Flea said he overheard Bobby saying it was on Sub level B." Jubilee offered.

"Sub level B." The electronic voice confirmed their destination, and down they went.

------------------------------------------------------------------

Sorry it's so short. This isn't even the whole prologue. Future chapters are long, and fun, then angsty, then action packed, then fun again. Just puttin' out the bait and seein' if anyone bites. PLEASE REVIEW! Flames are welcomed.


	2. The Mutant Problem

Disclaimer: The X-men don't belong to me. I feel really silly saying that. Isn't it obvious?

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

_Somewhere in New Orleans..._

The imposing roar of a motorcycle joined the cacophony of chirps, and assorted birdcalls of the bayou's nocturnal fauna. This far from the city, the only light was provided by the large full moon, that hung obligingly overhead, leaving the stretches of marsh and crumbling trail, bathed in its light. Of course this was more than enough for Wolverine to see by, as he killed the bike's engine, and used his heel to adjust the kick stand, before dismounting, and gaining his bearings. This was as far as he could get to the manor by motorcycle without a) alerting the no doubt dozen or more guards on duty to his presence, and b) losing control of the bike, and allowing it to be swallowed up by the swamp.

Reclining his head slightly, he scented the thick Southern air. The manor was about half a mile into the swamp, and easy enough to get to, if one followed the dilapidated wooden trail that lead right up to the wrought iron gate that surrounded it. However, this would not be the mutant's choice of routes. Estimating roughly that there were at least 13 guards littering the manor's surrounding area, and that they each were armed with at least one projectile weapon, Wolverine shrugged his powerful shoulders, feeling the leather jacket tighten reassuringly, and took off at a run into the bayou. Each step was steady, and sure, and dirt crumbled under his weight as soon as he lifted his foot to the next semi solid bit of earth. He propelled himself swiftly and silently, like a wolf stalking toward its prey, and made the half mile in just under four minutes.

His small, dark eyes scanned the area from behind an overgrown clump of wild banana trees. The manor was large, and old, three stories of chipping paint, and seemingly treacherous, but secretly sturdy pillars to support it. A light was on in a second story window, and shadows moved behind a drawn curtain. Outside, guards in dark clothing, roamed methodically, their weapons poorly concealed beneath their cheap leather coats. A long, polished limousine sat in the driveway. Wolverine scented the air again, then squatted where he was, and waited, relaxing just a hair. His eyes never stopped moving. He was waiting...waiting.

Chuck, better known as Charles Xavier had called Wolverine back to his school for Gifted Youngsters in Westchester New York, three days ago, a Monday, shaking him out of an extended period of quasi-inebriation. Thanks to his healing factor, which was courtesy of his X-gene, he was unable to achieve his desired state of total drunkenness, however with enough Jack, and enough nights spent in cheap, musty old motels, you lose yourself pretty good. It was the way Logan dealt with things he didn't feel like dealing with. It always had been, and old habits died hard. Besides, only the good guys stick around. And Wolverine had been called a lot of things, a lot of them, he'd accepted to be true, but good guy wasn't one of them. Maybe that's why he couldn't stay put at the mansion for more than a month at a time. It was too full up with good guys. And while he'd grown to trust his teammates, he'd always be distanced.

Which brings us back to the subject at hand. Chuck had a problem. Or rather some backwater mutant in Louisiana had a problem, and Charles Xavier, being the kind of man he was, considered it _his_ problem as well. Which made it Logan's problem.

According to the little Xavier had been able to divine from his high powered crystal ball, Cerebro, there was a mutant dangerously close to starting major static with New Orlean's local authorities. He was a professional thief, and had remained one step ahead of the police, for years. They'd admitted defeat. The man simply couldn't be caught. They labeled the contraband he lifted as 'gone forever', and stopped bothering to write up files. Until last month when a priceless artifact was stolen from an obscure museum, the job having the guy's MO written all over it. It was called The Jewel of Cytorak. Some ancient gem, that museum's had been passing back and forth for centuries, extremely valuable. The FBI jump started the investigation on the man known only by his street name, _Gambit. _

Apparently, they didn't even know he was a mutant, they being the FBI, but as the investigation progressed, the evidence would mount, and it would be obvious that the perpetrator wasn't exactly normal. After only just talking the president of the United States out of passing the mutant registration act six months ago, the last thing mutant kind needed was an infamous vagabond making the government nervous all over again. Xavier had not been able to verify the nature of the thief's mutation, but the police reports were enough for him to be labeled dangerous. So this explains why Logan was in New Orleans, but not why he was crouched behind a clump of trees, casing an old manor, in an increasingly uncomfortable position.

After receiving his assignment and orders from Xavier, which vaguely specified he was to offer the mutant, 'sanctuary and exoneration, in exchange for the immediate abandonment of his current lifestyle', Logan left for Louisiana, and spent a day and half gathering information on the guy. It was easy enough. Every scum bag that slunk through the underbelly of New Orleans seemed to know Gambit, however no one seemed to know where he was. Except one guy, referred to affectionately by the patrons of his bar as Willy the Snitch. After a few bucks, and a few threats, Willy managed to recall that the last he'd heard Gambit was pulling a job on a private collector, a reclusive old man, whose address he also managed to remember and confide to Logan. After checking around a little while longer, finding wisps of rumors that verified Willy's word, Logan looked up the 'private collector's' address, and was now waiting for Gambit to make his move. He'd do his damndest to avoid conflict with the other mutant at Xavier's request, but after months of brooding, Wolverine welcomed the possibility of a skirmish. And it seemed that fate was in his favor. He'd been in the same position for roughly an hour and a half, when a new scent caught his attention. It was the thief. Had to be. But how had he managed to get so close, without Logan picking up on him sooner?

Wolverine scanned the trees, and overgrown shrubbery, but while his vision was sharper than average, he could not see in the dark. Establishing a visual on Gambit from his current position was an impossibility. He rose slowly, feeling his legs prickle back to life, while a few yards away, one of the guard's walkie talkie's crackled to life. Logan's ears focused, and locked on the distant verbal exchange.

"Le patron dit qu'il a entendu un bruit autour du dos. Il vous veut et Louis pour le vérifier hors."

The guard grunted a response, nodded at his partner, and they left their posts at the front of the building, and disappeared into the shadows, heading for the back. There were still four at various positions up front, looking surly and suddenly tense. Wolverine doubted these guys ever saw much action. Judging by the new human scent on the air, and the coincidental deployment of two guards, tonight would be their baptism by fire. Logan moved, careful not to so much as rustle a leaf, closer towards the gate, who's view was obstructed by exotic looking bushes with large grasping leaves. Here was a break in the metal which he had seen earlier. With a metallic snikt, a single, glinting, adamantium sheathed claw extended from the web of flesh between his second and third knuckles. He leaned, to give the gnarled metal of the gate a swift slash, cutting through it as if it were paper. The opening was widened, and the remaining guards were too far away for their human senses to have heard anything. Logan's claw retracted, the torn flesh of his hand, healing as if nothing odd had happened at all. Logan crouched, and prepared to crawl through, but paused, as his ear piqued at another electronic crackle from the guard's walkie talkie.

"Edouarde Il y a quelque chose dans les buissons soutient ici. Probablement juste un chien, ou un alligator ou quelque chose, mais ces idiots n'ont pas de lampe de poche, et la mine que s'a brûlé. Amener le vôtre, n'est ce pas ? "

To which Edward responded, " Je n'ai pas amené une lampe de poche. Alphonse, prendre le vôtre soutient là bas. " And his partner obligingly disappeared after the first two.

Now, more sure than ever of the intruder's presence, Wolverine breeched the fence, and moved swiftly, and silently to the house. The four remaining guards were unaware of his presence, as keeping to the shadows, he made his way around their perimeter, to the back. Unfortunately the backyard of the man's manor, wasn't so much of a backyard, as it was an extension of the swamp. From the darkness, there was a muffled yelp, one of the guards, followed by a thump as his body hit the ground. Logan's eyes, already adjusted to the dimness, saw the bodies of the guards, littering the ground, all tied swiftly together. But how had such a thing been accomplished so quickly? There was no doubt that the thief was mutant.

Logan tensed, and inclined his head, as the thief's scent grew stronger. A gentle woosh from overhead, and the slightest change in light. Logan looked up just in time to see the shadow of a definitively masculine figure, enter a second story window. So much for avoiding conflict. Preparing himself, Logan moved to kick the back door down, and pursue the other mutant, however the guards chose that exact moment to get a clue.

Ratatatatatat!

Logan winced, and dove out of range of the unannounced rain of machine gun fire. "Couldn't I at least get a 'freeze, or we'll shoot?" He grumbled to himself. "Do not move, or we will kill you!" One of the guards shouted in heavily accented English. Logan suppressed a snort of amusement, as he round house kicked the guy's weapon, aside, then came up behind him to deliver a blow to the back of his head, rendering him unconscious. The other guards swarmed, baring their weapons. "Look, I ain't got time for this. You guys got the wrong guy." In response, all Logan got was a stream of threats and curses in french, followed by another blast of machine gun fire. Logan dove out of the way, but this time was clipped by a bullet in his left leg, thankfully just below the knee. He gritted his teeth against the pain, as well as the sudden flare of rage that filled him because of it. The only thing that kept him from acting on the rage was the reassuring sensation of the wound stitching itself closed, his healing factor. As was afore mentioned, Logan wasn't exactly in a non-confrontational mood. Finding his footing in the muddy ground of the manor's backyard, he exhaled ruggedly before flexing the muscles in his wrist. He extended six glinting adamantium claws, three on each hand. Hoping the sight of them would be enough to put the guards off, he gave diplomacy one last try. _"_I said, you got the wrong guy! Put down your guns, or I'm gonna have to make you earn the hell out of your paychecks."

Glances were exchanged, and as one, the guards lifted their weapons at the mutant. Logan grinned. "Hope he's paying you enough."

Again came the storm of machine gun fire. This time, instead of evading, Logan dived into them, head on, a blur of flashing metal. It was only seconds later that the sound of bullets flying gave way to screams, that were then cut short, giving way to silence. At the end, Logan stood over the fallen. He hadn't hit any major arteries, but a healthy amount of blood would blend with the dew on the grass, come morning. Wolverine's claws receded into his forearms, and he kicked in the manor's back door.

The house was dark, but Logan could make out the sights and smells of old money in the kitchen, and living room. The house smelled like an old folks home, and everywhere, there were plaques on the wall, or old trinkets collecting dust under glass display cases. A lonely old man, surrounded by lonely old knick knacks.

"Help me! Please he-mmff!"

Logan's eyes narrowed, as he followed the cry, obviously belonging to the owner of the manor. Wolverine could hear the age in his voice. He climbed the winding oak staircase to the second floor, and could see the bedroom door open down the hall, the only room that was lit. The sounds of scuffling and snorting came from within. Logan approached carefully, and once he filled the doorway, quickly took in the scene. A large room, with a large bed. An elderly man lay bound and gagged on the floor in front of it, and another man stood across the room, nearest the window, before a wooden bureau. Inside the bureau was another glass display case that was ajar. The object that had once been inside, now rested in the gloved hand of the man known only as Gambit.

He was a hair over six feet tall, seemingly muscular beneath his worn brown duster. A strap slung across his chest, held a bo staff resting against his back. His face was handsome and angular, framed by a shock of red hair, but Logan's attention was drawn to his eyes, which burned a deep unnatural crimson.

"Hmmff mmmm!" The old man cried, his watery eyes looking pleadingly up at Logan.

"Gambit don't know what your business wit him is, mon ami. But he's pretty sure you'd do betta to put it out a' yo mind." His Cajun accent was thick. "Unless you want trouble." He added with a disarmingly charming grin.

In response, Wolverine popped his claws, as if to say, _"No need to be unpleasant. We're all mutants here." _The other mutant mistook the gesture and tensed.

"Listen, cajun. I'm not here to fight. I'm here to help." This was obviously the last thing the red haired mutant expected, and his grin faded to an expression of intrigue. "Really? Das more concern dan Gambit ever got from his momma."

"Well you can keep the appreciation to yourself, bub. The concern's not mine. Thing is, if you get caught, the police find out you're a mutant, and the media uses it to slander mutant kind's rep all over again. Personally, I don't give a damn, but some friends o' mine do, so I can't let you go."

"What makes you tink de police can catch Gambit? He's done okay so far."

"T''snot just the police. The FBI are looking for you."

This was also a surprise, judging by the flicker of worry Logan caught in those crimson eyes. "They're hot on your tail. It won't be long before you slip, and they catch you. Especially if you stay in New Orleans. I've only been here for three days, and here I am."

Gambit seemed to process this all in a very quick five seconds, before shrugging slightly and slipping the golden brown item into his duster pocket. "Gambit will take his chances. Merci, for de heads up, mon ami." And proceeded to exit through the window.

"Wait!" Logan snapped irritably surging forward to stop him, but in one fluid motion, the Cajun reached into an inner pocket of his duster, and came up with a playing card, the Ace of spades. Logan watched as in seconds, the card ignited in Gambit's hand, and was flung with deadly velocity straight at Wolverine.

B-BAM!

A small explosion of purplish light filled the room. Logan ducked, as plaster fell from the ceiling overhead, and shielded the old man with his body, as the smoke cleared. When he looked up Gambit was gone.

"Damn it." Wolverine swore under his breath, and rose to his feet. He became aware of the old man, still struggling against his bonds. He couldn't release him now, or he'd surely call the police. Plus there was the small matter of time. Instead of following out the window, the mutant, turned, and exited the now demolished bedroom, heading back down to the first floor, and exiting through the front door. He bolted at top speed down the porch steps, stopping only to give the gate a good slash with his claws to get it out of his way. He was almost half way to his bike when he heard the unmistakable roar of its engine cut through the night. Gambit had gotten there first.

Logan's temper flared. Sure he had stolen the bike from the X-men's leader, Cyclops in the first place, but since then, Wolverine had considered the vintage Harley Davidson motorcycle 100 _his_. And he wasn't big on sharing.

His options ran quickly through his mind, and he settled on a solution to the problem, before turning back, and heading towards the manor.

At 78 years old, Michael Bucher had seen his share of peculiar things. Especially having been a resident of New Orleans, which was kind of home to peculiar things. But watching a 1976 Mercedes limousine roar through the narrow streets of the French Quarter in pursuit of a man with vibrant red hair who was hurling what looked like explosive playing cards at the vehicle behind him on a Harley Davidson motorcycle, at three o'clock in the morning while trying to evade a constant stream of drunken tourists, was definitely one of the most peculiar things he'd ever seen. However, being a veteran observer of peculiar things, Michael Bucher merely lifted his trumpet case out of the way of the fleeing pedestrians, waited for the commotion to pass, then sat back down, and kept right on playing his horn.

----------------

Again, it's shorter than I would've liked it, but I felt so bad about the gimpy length of the prologue, that I had to. In the next chapter we find out what Kitty and Jubes discover in the mansion's basement, and what becomes of Logan and Gambit.


End file.
